


Fuzzy

by zetsubonna



Series: Articles of Partnership [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Body Worship, Emotional Constipation, M/M, super senses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 10:47:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5045383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zetsubonna/pseuds/zetsubonna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Between Matt and Foggy, sometimes indulgences are granted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fuzzy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chaya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaya/gifts).



Matt always wonders, when he does this, if he should narrate, or explain, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t explain, because he’s not sure the words in his head and the words in Foggy’s head will match up, and he doesn’t want to make Foggy think about it too hard. He wants him to think about it and  _get_  hard, but he definitely doesn’t want him to overthink it, that’s the word. Overthink.

He straddles Foggy’s thighs and Foggy sighs, he can hear the smile in the sigh, he feels it in the kisses, he smells all the smells that make up Foggy fresh out of the shower and his own sheets and Foggy’s wet hair subtly altering the smell of his pillowcase.

“You ass,” Foggy sighs, running his hands up Matt’s thighs, his fingers, as usual, unconsciously tracing the muscle that stands out under the skin. Conscious, though, of how his thumbs rub back and forth over Matt’s hipbones. His thumbs are hot. His palms are hotter, pleasantly agitated and damp. “Did you- You did. You did it again.”

“Mhm,” Matt concedes, because there’s no point in lying when Foggy can feel the lube all down the crack of his ass, his ass is on Foggy’s thighs, he knew Foggy was going to feel it and get even harder, and yup, when his hand goes for Foggy’s cock, it’s resting right where he wanted to find it, even if he wasn’t feeling it out by heat. It’s hard, hard enough that the veins stand out, and smooth, and that makes the contrast so much better.

Matt curls his fingers around Foggy’s cock slowly, smirking, his knuckles grazing across Foggy’s belly, and Foggy moans softly.

“Ugh,” he says, and Matt bites the inside of the smirk to keep it from breaking into a grin. He strokes Foggy’s cock without redirecting it, without adjusting it, so he’s got Foggy’s hot, hard, urgent cock against his palm and Foggy’s soft, giving, fuzzy stomach on his knuckles. Matt wiggles his approval on Foggy’s lap and Foggy doesn’t have a damn clue, honestly, how  _into_  this Matt is, the contrast in just this little gesture, just this tiny motion, just in stroking his dick and leaving it on his belly like this, Foggy’s too turned on to notice, half the time, that Matt’s savoring him like a thick slice of cake.

“Okay, that’s cute,” Foggy pants, “You’re real excited, huh?” but Matt’s only half listening, because Foggy’s cock pulses in time with his heartbeat, and Matt can smell the fresh sweat coming off him and mixing with the water that clings to his skin, especially the softly furred parts of him like his perfect round belly, and Matt almost pouts because he’s rushed himself again, he should have started lower, shouldn’t have climbed right into Foggy’s lap when Foggy laid down on the bed, should have scaled up his body slowly and sampled the water mixed with Foggy’s freshly soaped skin with his tongue, tasted it better.

He drops his mouth open now and lowers his face to nuzzle into Foggy’s neck, and Foggy knows at this point that shaving when he’s about to fool around with Matt ticks him off and covers him in shaving cream smell and aftershave smell and Matt doesn’t want that, so he’s just the tiniest bit prickly and Matt distractedly imagines Foggy growing out that really hot beard he had in undergrad but Foggy has told him it is gone, gone forever, and Matt’s not going to argue with him about it.

A clean-shaven, baby-faced defense attorney, Foggy insisted, is more endearing to the jury than a bearded, albeit sexy, lumberjack defense attorney, and Matt disagrees, because Foggy with a beard is not sexy lumberjack, not if Matt remembers anything about lumberjacks, it’s more like a sexy hipster guitarist with a terrible cover band, but he knows better than to say that and anyway, Matt’s opinion is irrelevant in this. Foggy groans and squirms and his stomach pushes against Matt’s and Matt shifts his weight until he can push his cock against Foggy’s stomach and growl hungrily in Foggy’s ear, which makes Foggy laugh, which is fine.

It’s fine, it’s fine. Foggy’s laugh makes Matt briefly consider giving up riding Foggy’s dick in favor of tickling him, making him giggle hysterically while Matt humps Foggy’s perfect goddamn thick thighs until Matt comes messily all over both of them, but Foggy has threatened to break all of Matt’s goddamned fingers if Matt tickles him sober and without permission, plus he’s already fingered himself open while listening to Foggy washing in the shower, so no, Matt’s going to stick to his plan.

“Gimme a kiss,” Foggy says, poking Matt in the ribs, because Matt’s been mouthing at his neck for thirty seconds and grinding into him while he savors Foggy’s skin and heat and the way Foggy’s hands dig into his back when Matt’s chewing on him- very gently, because Foggy’s not actually fond of teeth but Matt needs to sink them in just a little sometimes, scrape them across Foggy’s throat and that delicious, plush spot between his neck and shoulder, and Foggy doesn’t question much as soon as Matt says  _need_  instead of  _like_.

Matt gives him a kiss, and Foggy did not brush his teeth in the shower because Matt has told him the toothpaste smell throws him off, so he tastes like their shared dinner, like cheap marinara, cheese ravioli, meatballs, garlic, black pepper, beer, and himself, and Foggy really needs to lay off the sugarless chewing gum because the back of his tongue is always haunted by xylitol, but that’s minor, it’s very minor, Matt’s not going to nitpick. Especially not when Foggy digs into his back with his warm, steady hands, groans, and mutters, “Why are you so damn stiff? Calm your tits, Murdock,” and Matt laughs into his mouth, because he’s not half as tense when he’s grinding into Foggy as he is every other minute of every other day.

Foggy likes Matt’s muscles, maybe, he never  _says_  so, but Matt likes the way he traces all the lines, all the scars, too, now that Matt occasionally gives up on wearing t-shirts when they fuck, half because Foggy kept shoving his hands up Matt’s shirts anyway and half because he likes the way it feels to press every hard, tired inch of his body into Foggy and get  _give_  in response, because that’s what Foggy does, even when he doesn’t mean to. “Shoulda had dessert,” he says, and Foggy makes an intrigued sound as Matt tugs on his earlobe with teeth. “Ice cream in the fridge.”

“There are less subtle ways of confessing than restocking your fridge,” Foggy tells him, but Matt just smirks and pushes his abs into Foggy’s dick and grins when Foggy jerks his hips up automatically in response. “You could also try telling me to shut up,” he pants, “Instead of just-”

“Shut up, Foggy,” Matt says, and cements it by pushing his tongue back into Foggy’s mouth and grabbing a handful of his soft, thick, wet hair. “Or at least limit the talking to helpful suggestions.”

“Suck my dick,” Foggy says, but grabs Matt’s shoulder when he moves to turn the retort into a suggestion. “Not  _literally_ , damn.”

“Not really in the mood anyway,” Matt says, grinning, making Foggy huff because he likes the response that gets, the tightening of Foggy’s hands, more heat in his palms, a blush warming his face.

“Can you hear it when I roll my eyes at you?” Foggy asks him, smacking his other shoulder lightly. “Is that a sound?”

“It’s a sound,” Matt concedes, then, lower, nudging Foggy’s nose with his own, “You know why I did it myself?”

“Why?” Foggy asks, tilting his head back skeptically, but his heart speeds up, and Matt trails his fingers down Foggy’s chest.

“I was listening to the shower,” Matt says. “The way the water bounces off you when you put your hands up against the wall and lean under the shower head? Getting started was the only thing that kept me from climbing in after you and screwing your brains out.”

“Bullshit,” Foggy accuses, and the blushing intensifies exponentially, explodes across his face, hot, and makes Matt grin harder before he kisses Foggy hard on the lips.

“No, I know,” Matt says, nudging at him again, teasing in earnest, “I know you get motion sick if you take it right after you eat, so I’m going to be generous.”

“Does  _your_  heart speed up when you’re lying?” Foggy asks, and Matt’s hard pressed not to laugh, the way Foggy shoves at his shoulder even as he keeps him close for another kiss. “You fed me.”

“Are you arguing intent with me?” Matt licks Foggy’s nose as he moves up on his knees, trying to position himself to slide down onto Foggy’s cock without telegraphing his movements too overtly. “Seriously?”

“I’m stating the goddamn obvious,” Foggy says, nipping at Matt’s bottom lip. “If you had any intention of screwing me, it would have been sex  _first_  and dinner _after_. You fed me, ergo, you wanted to sit on my cock. Act like you’re the only goddamn lawyer here. My name’s first on the door, buddy.”

“Knew I should have taken your offer to go alphabetical,” Matt murmurs, tracing down from Foggy’s shoulder, teasing across the scattered trail of moles on his shoulders and chest before pinching his nipple. “You going to get it ready for me or what?”

“Like you need me to,” Foggy grumbles, dropping his hand before Matt’s even done teasing him, and Matt rewards him by starting to take it as soon as Foggy’s managed to slide the condom on, almost before his hand’s in place to steady it, making Foggy suck in his breath sharply and hiss, even as Matt’s entire world flexes and narrows like he’s passed through a physical barrier and into a world insulated with gelatin. “ _Shit_ , Matt!”

“That’s what you get,” Matt tells him, breathy and shifting his hips to take it faster than he usually can do on his own, slick enough that the lack of friction makes Foggy shake his head in disbelief. “What kind of jackass says ‘ergo’ in bed?”

Foggy only groans in response, dropping his head back on the pillow as Matt pushes himself into a sitting position, moving his hand once Matt’s taken more than half of Foggy’s cock, knowing Matt would want Foggy to get out of the way.

Foggy’s hands settle on Matt’s thighs, and Matt draws in a slow, steady breath, pushing through the hazy pleasure of the stretch, burn, and fullness to appreciate Foggy’s ragged panting, the way he’s pushing his wet hair deeper into the pillow, and best, best, best in Matt’s mind, the way Foggy’s stomach trembles under his hands when he starts to move, slowly rocking up and down, his eyes closed, mouth hanging open.

“Good?” Foggy manages.

Matt nods, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and chewing on it lightly. He rolls his hips and sighs, and Foggy’s stomach twitches, pushes up, and gives in. He uses the texture of Foggy’s stomach hair under his palms, the gentle dip of Foggy’s navel around his thumbs, the sigh of Foggy’s labored breath, the hurried skip of his heartbeat, lets them all wash over him and relax him, soothe him.

Matt lets his jaw go loose and flares his nostrils wide; so he smells and tastes sex, latex, water, expensive lube, cheap soap, commingled sweat, honey shampoo, wet silk sheets, dinner, beer, and Foggy. Matt wraps himself in the bubble of things he wants, things he’s chosen, comforting things; Matt digs his fingers shallowly into Foggy’s generous, fuzzy belly and takes, takes, takes, and Foggy’s hands clutch Matt’s thighs and Foggy groans, surprised as ever when Matt comes first, splashing his own hands and Foggy’s stomach with stickiness but not stopping, not for ages, not until Foggy’s come, too.

Matt topples down slowly and Foggy drags him close, both arms across his back, tucking Matt’s head under his chin, stroking the sweat-slick hair at the nape of Matt’s neck.

“You okay?” Foggy asks, because he always asks, and Matt hums his affirmation, kissing Foggy’s jaw gratefully. “You get this look on your face, holy shit. It’s amazing.”

“Ice cream?” Matt offers, flustered, eager to change the subject, willing to sacrifice making himself move if it’ll get Foggy to shut up.

“Gimme a kiss first,” Foggy says, and Matt can hear him rolling his eyes, so he does, and lingers there, drawing the kiss out, drawing every one of them out, letting Foggy rub the back of his neck, Matt’s sticky hands tangling in Foggy’s hair, smugly noting that Foggy’s going to need a second shower and that this time, there’s no reason Matt can’t join in.


End file.
